


Say My Name

by goldenforestprince



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bucky Barnes Remembers, Gunshot Wounds, Hydra (Marvel), Murder, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Revenge, Stabbing, Torture, Violence, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-09-23 01:46:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9635462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenforestprince/pseuds/goldenforestprince
Summary: After escaping during the aftermath of the failed Project Insight, Bucky gets captured by Hydra once again. But this time, he won't let himself be taken down so easily, not when he has memories to reclaim. As he fights his way to freedom, the Winter Soldier regains one vital piece of information: his name.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Pure revenge porn.

The mission had failed. The Asset was led into the bank vault, face as unreadable as ever. The eight men surrounding him held their weapons close, as if he would snap at any second. They weren’t wrong.

When they had sent him to take out Captain America, they made a bet that the Asset would not remember his old friend. The irony could have been humorous, if it wasn’t intended to end in bloodshed. Hydra had made the gamble, and they had lost. At the very last moment, as the Helicarrier fell from the sky, the memories had crashed back into the forefront of his mind, and he realized the extent of what Hydra had done to him. They could take his humanity, but they could never have Steve.

So he saved Steve, fighting against every flash that entered his mind, against the list reciting all the ways he could end the man’s life. Hydra didn’t like that. It had taken a few days to track him down, trap him, and then to catch him, and he sure didn’t make it easy. It was the eight wave of armed men that finally got him weary enough to be brought down and detained, and now they were bringing him to his final resting place. After all, he had failed the mission in the most spectacular way.

One of the soldiers, a blond man, pushed him down into the chair. The Asset kept his arms by his sides, refusing to let the arms of the chair detain him. He’d be damned if he let then shoot him like a tied-up dog. The man’s jaw jumped, noticing the lack of cooperation, weighing whether it would be worth the effort to aggravate the Asset further, as unstable as he was. He met the blond’s eyes, whose eyes widened in turn, glancing at the team leader for any sort of signal as to how to handle this. The brunet shrugged, then walked closer to him, lifting the gun to right between the Asset’s eyes. 

He growled low in his throat. He had had more than enough of having guns pointed at him the last few days. “Drop the gun and I won’t put a bullet in your eye,” the Asset snarled, expression unfazed. “We both know you don’t have the clearance to shoot me.” The man froze in turn, trying to give nothing away and failing. The Asset had clearly been out out cryo too long, if he was sure of himself to the point where he could give commands. The brunet turned to the com by his shoulder, muttering, “Send Pierce in here, we’ve got a problem,” lowering the gun a fraction of an inch. It was all he needed.

He grabbed the muzzle of the gun, ripping it from the man’s grip with such strength that even the strap ripped and sent the man forward. There were twelve men in the room with him, all immediately on guard, and he considered mowing them all down, but that would be too good for them. He would make it long, and he would make it ugly. 

He grabbed the blond man next to him, using him as a shield as he approached the others. Blood sprayed from his hostage, the agents uncaring if they killed one of their own if it meant bringing down this unstable threat. 

Systematically, he took them all out. With his bare hands, he tore into throats, dug into the soft flesh of bellies, ripped off jaws, and crushed in skulls. He even pulled out a few ribs from one particularly unlucky agent when he realized that the door was locked and none of them could leave - which meant he had all the time in world to exact his twisted justice.

He left the brunet for last. The blond agent long since bled out and done screaming, he tossed the still corpse to the floor. The Asset didn’t know how he knew the brunet’s face, but he figured it was because the man had been around long enough between the wipes and cryo for some semblance of familiarity to form in his mind. A good enough reason for him to make it last.

Slowly, he approached the man, eyes cold and unfeeling as stone. The man saw what he was up against - a well-trained, violent, blood-soaked, angry assassin who knew how to make someone’s end last as long as he wanted - and backed up against the wall, glancing around for what he could use as a weapon now that he was out of bullets. He desperately snatched a scalpel from a medical tray and aimed for the Asset’s throat, but he had the man’s wrist locked in his fist faster than he could blink. He tightened his hold, and the man grimaced uncomfortably. Good. He slowly tightened his grip further, watching the man’s face contort with pain, until the bone gave a sickening crunch. The man gave a strained yell, and dropped the scalpel.

“Enjoy it while you can,” the man panted. “When Pierce gets here and sees what you’ve done, he’ll have you gutted like a pig.” 

In response, the Asset, pushed the man’s arm up against the wall, so that he was held up by his elbow. His shoulder couldn’t bear his own weight, and popped against the pressure. Between the hold on the crushed bone and now the useless shoulder, it was beginning to sink in that he wasn’t getting anything resembling mercy, and the man’s face paled.

The Asset narrowed his eyes. “What is my name?” He drew out every syllable despite his rough voice, making sure he would be understood.

The man gave a gruesome noise that was nowhere near what a laugh should be. “That’s right, you don’t have a clue who you are. Good luck with that, asshole.”

The Asset looked over to the medical tray, carefully selecting a serrated blade, then met the man’s eyes once more. “Say my name,” he whispered, eerily calm, the blade hovering over the man’s stomach. The man swallowed nervously, then responded with a determined, “No.”

He didn’t say the Asset’s name, not at first, but he definitely screamed. It was only when there was more blood than screaming that the Asset angrily threw the man to the floor. Pitifully, he tried crawling away, but he stepped on the man’s back, pushing his wounds, and organs, against the floor. 

“Say my name.” The knife still held in hand, he flipped it so the blade faced outwards, allowing a swift and convenient end if it was needed. But that wouldn’t be happening before he got his answer.

The man coughed out another “No,” panting heavily against the searing pain, and the Asset flipped him over onto his back. He held the blade an inch away from his eyes, ignoring the intestine that had spilled out from his torso to the floor. The man eyed the knife fearfully, not wanting to give in, but not wanting to be blind if he somehow walked away from this. Blind gunmen weren’t in very high demand.

“Last chance,” the Asset said. Even he was impressed with how little expression or tone entered his words, given the circumstances.

The man swallowed, indistinct words slurring quickly from his mouth.

The Asset paused. “Again.”

The man refused to meet his eyes, gaze still locked to the knife. “James. Bu-Buchanan. Barnes. _Now let me fucking go.”_

 _That’s right,_ he recalled. That was the name that Steven Rogers had called him on the Helicarrier. It made sense. He knew the man wasn’t lying. There was nothing deceptive about what he had said.

There was nothing deceptive about the way the knife stabbed into the center of the man’s neck, either.

A noise sounded behind him. Hands, torso and face drenched in the blood of the various men around the room, the Asset - _no, James Buchanan Barnes_ \- slowly stood up and turned to see whoever would dare face him.

Alexander Pierce. That name he remembered. James smiled. Today was turning out nicely. His grip tightening reflexively around the handle of the blade as he strode confidently towards the older man. Pierce’s eyes widened upon seeing the carnage around the room and decorating James, a cry escaping his pouting lips upon understanding what had happened here. He tried to turn around to leave, but the doors had already locked behind him. He pulled uselessly on them as James approached.

Seeing how weak the head of Hydra really was without his gunmen, James laughed. Hydra wouldn’t be holding him captive any longer. Heady with the idea of freedom, he held up the knife.

_“Say my name.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Have an idea for a fic you want me to write? Let me know in the comments! <3


End file.
